HAUTE MONDE
by kaerimichi
Summary: roxas/olette -- from ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. from forth of fatal loins of these two foes a pair of star cross’d lovers take their life. romeo and juliet? not quite so.


HAUTE MONDE  
_high society_  
normal disclaimer applies  
society is like air; very high up, it is sublimated --  
too low down, a perfect choke-damp  
act i : m **a** s **q** u **e** r **a** d **e** _hideyourface_  
«― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ― ―

**prologue**

"Come closer child" a woman beckons you, her eyes bulging from their sockets, a crooked smile on her face, revealing only two front teeth. She was a frail thing, back bent with age, ash gray hair sticking out in wild angles, leaning on a wooden stick. "Do you want to hear a story?" her voice was cracking, dry, like old parchment paper.

You nod cautiously, as the old woman chuckles lightly and retreat deeper into the shadows. She calls to you, "Come closer child." You take a tiny step forward. Her eyes seem to bulge less, her back a little straighter, her hair a little bit darker.

"And now I shall tell you a story, a story that begins not with 'Once upon a time' or ends with 'Happily ever after', just like your story and mine. We shall set up the scene as: Two households, both alike in dignity." You start to laugh, this was Romeo and Juliet! You had heard this a million times before, and you hurry to tell the old woman that you have already heard the story.

She jabs a long, bony finger at your chest, and declares sharply. "You have it all wrong, child. First of all, do not tell me that this story takes place in Verona, it takes place in Vralia. Now, where exactly is Vralia? I can't really tell you unless you have been there." Your eyes widen, this woman must be mad! But you listen to her anyways, deciding whatever tale she has would be interesting enough to kill at least fifteen minutes of your dull life. You tell her to continue to explain about her story.

Her fingers dance across her face and the smile returns while she brushes locks of hair away from her face. She seemed younger than the first moment you laid your eyes on her. "This is a ghost of a story, child, remember that it is a tragedy. Sometimes you just have to read, no, look between the lines." The woman stands up straight before you, her hair was black, and eyes were not bulging in the sockets anymore. "Because, child, there is more to things than it will ever seem."

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and reaches down into a basket you didn't notice before. She holds up a white gardenia. "Gardenia's for secret love. This is how our tale begins." The white flower is tossed up in the air, falling down like a white dove. You listen as her voice, no longer cracked and dry, but as smooth as silk, and it all begins to sink in.

_Two households, both alike in dignity._

**scene i**

Eos spread her large white wings and opened the gate of heavens with her rosy fingers, while her fiery brother, Helios sprang forth in his chariot of golden horses. Sparkling sunlight poured over a well kept white manor. At first glance, it would have been quite normal, but as you stare longer, the brightness of it all was almost unbearable.

The lawn was well kept, trimmed neat with flowers standing on the lush green grass like little soldiers ready for battle, trees stood straight as a pin as they spread their well kept limbs out to offer some shade. The horse stables were neat and organized with their beautiful white Andalusian's, two Lipizzan's, one graying out to white, and the other already white, and a grey Shetland pony, because the only child of the house demanded something other than white.

A large staircase extended down as soon as you fling the white front door open, with white silk draped over the banister, the furniture was white, some a bit cream or the faintest grey possible, but almost always a dazzling bright white. One could wonder what the Montague's did to keep all this squeaky clean with their constant dinner parties and elaborate balls. In any case, it remains white and dazzling no matter what the occasion. Up on the walls hung portraits in silver frames of old ancestors and distant relatives most of the Montague's have never even seen before. Priceless vases filled with various white flowers, roses and lilies to name a few, sat on columns. Servants maneuvered around effortlessly as the day began.

As usual.

Thin lace curtains barely prevented the glittering sunlight from entering this particular room we're looking at, casting shadows on the wall. Everything was a pale pastel blue, much to the owner's displeasure. A white vanity desk sat up against the wall next to a bookshelf with a pink embroidered armchair (which was probably the darkest color in the whole room). A small lump curled beneath the pastel duvets, while everything else seemed to be in order. The pillows were still propped up against the head of the bed, untouched, while the rest of the duvet remained still and creaseless. A little, mouse like nurse scurried in the room, and prodded at the lump while saying in her high-pitched voice, "Miss Montague, it is about time you wake up, it is seven. Miss Amherst and Miss Faye will be arriving in due time."

A small murmur of agreement came from the lump as a hand shot up, waving lazily while a voice followed. "I'll be right up." The hand waved for two more seconds, and Nurse Souris took the hint, scurrying out of the room. It had always been like this. Go to Olette's room, tell her to wake up, get out, wait for her to come out, and attend to whatever the girl needed. "If she wants it, then she'll get it, however outrageous her request might be." Lord Montague spoke to all the servants that were around the girl, ad since he was the lord, they had to agree.

Raising her wasn't difficult, the brunette was independent, but her demands were slightly against tradition. She wanted change, difference. The girl was into books, not how she looked. Hated the thought of marriage and sitting there just to bring up the next generation, hated the pale colors of their manor, and despised the thought of the feud between the Capulet's and the Montague's.

We can all blame Friar Pence for putting such absurd thoughts in her mind, but shh, you didn't hear that from me.

Glancing up blankly at the grandfather clock as it ticked, Nurse Souris sighed as she muttered to no one in particular, "Three, two, one." The door burst open to reveal a person that could be taken as a buttermilk maid, not the daughter of a powerful man in Vralia. "Do you need help with your corset again, Miss?" the mousy woman rolled her eyes around as the brunette opened her mouth to let out a wail, exasperated.

"I really don't see the point of wearing them. My waist can't get any smaller or else people would stare at me for having this, stick of a waist. And this dress, it is too long. I keep on tripping on it." She waved a frilly, light pink tea gown around like a banner. "I like this dress so much better." Olette pointed at her outfit, a simple tan peasants dress.

"You know what? One day women can have their dresses up to the thigh and no one will say anything about it." Nurse Souris could only watch as the girl rambled on. It happened everyday whenever she got frustrated or nervous she started talking about everything, and anything that came to her mind. Patting the brunette on the head, Nurse Souris dragged her back inside the bedroom. Perhaps Olette was nervous because her friends that just came back from finishing school were visiting, maybe it was because she was cranky after not getting sleep last night, or perhaps it was because once again, she was upset that another day has past and they were still in feud with the Capulet's.

"How about we just settle for the white dress your father brought back from his trip?" Nurse Souris suggested, pulling out a white garment and a light blue sash that was supposed to be tied in a ribbon round her waist. Green eyes shot up at the ceiling, and reluctantly, she reached out to take it. The mousy nurse nodded approvingly and asked, even though she could probably guess the answer, "Do you want me to help you get it on?"

Shaking her head, the girl took the garments from her nurse and smiled while saying, "Don't worry; I can take care of myself. Go out and take a break. And stop calling me Miss, for goodness sake! You have seen me naked as a child running around the mansion. That does not seem very lady-like to me, so don't call me 'Miss'." She smiled again and Nurse Souris could only walk out the door. Not two seconds after the white door closed behind her, it opened again, "Do tell me what Claire and Juliette arrive, alright?"

After she was done dressing, Olette was sat down in front of the vanity table by Nurse Souris, as the poor old woman tried in vain to style her brown hair. It simply wouldn't curl up in the ideal ringlets or be tied up in a tight bun. Blinking twice, Olette shook her head as Nurse Souris returned with a bonnet, her face twisted up in disgust as she attempted to give her a parasol. You see, Olette wasn't exactly the palest girl around, compared to her mother, Naminé, who was as white as the manor itself. She was darker, getting more sun compared to her mother and all the others around her, and she planned to stay that way.

Sighing, her nurse ran a brush through her wavy brown hair, parted them from the middle, and braided it down, tying a white satin ribbon at the end of the braids. "My dear, you never change. Now come here, my, you have grown. Who knows? Next thing you know you are to be wedded." Olette dove into Nurse Souris's arms; taking in the familiar scent she had breathed everyday since she could remember. That strange, sharp mix of mint and cinnamon, Olette forced back tears as she clung onto her small nurse. "Shh love, it's alright. You won't have to leave me until much, much later."

How wrong the mouse-nurse was.

"Now, enough of this talk, it is nonsense." The nurse managed a feeble smile at the girl she raised since she was so young, a girl that was so strong, yet so fragile. She was the girl who didn't cry when she fell off the back of her ivory horse (named Darnell), but stood up, giggling about it when everyone worried, but she was the one who cried her heart out when her father couldn't get her name right (the Lord had name issues).

Patting her hair, Nurse Souris let go of the girl with a gentle smile on her face. "Off to breakfast, Lord and Lady Montague are here today and I presume you would like to bond?" The ghost of a smile formed on her face, green eyes drifting.

"I suppose that would be nice," she responded, the white fabric of her gown russeling as she paced across the room. Her parents, though they loved her, did not think she was the perfection that a parent would want. Olette was clumsy, loud, had a mind of her own. No one liked that in a girl. Now, Lord Leon Montague didn't really mind, he quite liked that in his daughter, 'She takes after me, doesn't she Nami?' He was proud that she could hunt alongside him and not worry that she would soil her gown.

Lady Naminé Montague didn't take as well as Lord Montague did. She was absolutely horrified that her child could be like that, and every time she went missing, the poor Missus would have a heart attack. The blond lady was usually quiet; shy almost, a petite wife that only reached up to her husband's shoulder. She worried about her only child more than a mother should, constantly checking on the brunette girl who was her precious treasure. 'Olette, honey, I don't think it is such a good idea to play with the boys. I know we don't have any other girls in the family, but that doesn't mean you can go barefoot into the stream to catch fish.' Was just one of the common lectures Naminé would give her child, and the girl would smile, and then reply, 'Nothing will happen to me, promise! Hayner and Tidus and Rai are going to be there.'

With blank eyes and a strange smile, the nurse leaded the way as Olette smiled bright, her white tea gown dancing gracefully as she walked down the stairs, murmuring, "Wish I could slide down the banister." Two doormen pushed open the huge white door, and sitting there at the long dining table under a chandelier, were her parents.

"Good morning Papa, Mama," her voice was as sweet as possible, but hushed, quiet as Lady Montague nodded in approval.

"Good morning, Odette." A man in his mid-thirties with brunet hair falling over his scarred face replied.

"Olette, dear. Good morning." The woman spoke, tapping the white egg sitting in the baby blue eggcup with a small silver spoon. Outsiders would assume that Lady Montague was addressing her daughter, when in reality she was correcting her husband, yet again.

They ate as Lord Montague talked about his recent trip to Paliermu, Lady Montague nodding and smiling as a good wife should, barely even touching the cracked egg sitting in front of her. "Didn't you say you were having Justine and Carrie over?" the man managed a smile to his daughter, and listened intently as possible.

"Yes Papa, Juliette and Claire are coming to visit from finishing school," the girl replied brightly, lifting a glass up to her lips.

Lord Montague pondered for a moment as he drank from the silver goblet, "Ah, yes. Finishing school. Why didn't I send you to finishing school with Justine and Carrie?" Green eyes stared down at her silver plate, and replied, "The deputy mistress there was a Capulet. Why do we hate the Capulet's so much, Papa?" Being fifteen and curious, Olette couldn't help but wonder why they were in a constant feud with the Capulet's. After all, they did seem like a nice family.

"The Capulet's are scoundrels!" A fist slammed onto the white table, making it tremble, spilling orange juice, coffee, and various other liquids as a kitchen maid hurried over to clean up the mess. "They are not good people, I do not want you mingling with them, and actually, I _forbid_ you to mingle with them! Odette," he sighed while the blonde interjected, "It is Olette, dear." without looking up.

"I know, I know. I named her, didn't I? As I was saying, if you ever even think about even talking to a Capulet, I will have to disown you." A shy servant boy with orange-red hair that resembled a carrot scuttled next to Lord Montague, whispered something into his ear, and the man stood up. "Seems that I have another trip. It is such short notice; does Jack really think it is so important that I have to go right now? It better not be one of his crazy ideas again…" The servant boy shrugged, bowed, sinking low to the ground, rose up, and left.

He stood up to bid his small family goodbye, that consisted of a hurried, 'I will see you two very soon,' and kisses on their cheeks. As Lord Montague left the room, Lady Montague excused herself, and gracefully glided across the marble floor, ladies-in-waiting followed, almost seeming to stumble awkwardly in contrast to the Lady's beautiful poise. A soft sigh escaped the girl's lips; it was days like this she envied her mother for being so beautiful, while she was a clumsy as a bull in a china shop.

"What's wrong, Hayner?" the brunette girl chirped, her voice switching from a previous quiet whisper to a near shout, and smiled at her cousin, Hayner Montague, otherwise known as the Prince of Cats. This blond hothead had a temper that could match that of Lady Capulet's, and had battle scars to prove it. He was rather, impulsive, with a motto of, 'Life is about taking risks.' The boy acted before he thought, and that always got him into trouble, even now, as he was approaching the age that he could inherit property.

"Did you loose cards to Rai again?" Olette sauntered over to her fuming cousin, shaking his shoulders slightly. A bulky young man was shoved inside the white dining hall, followed closely by another boy with light auburn hair. "Come on Hayner, tell meeee…" The 'e' was stretched on for a finite amount of time as the girl gasped for breath, pulling a sad pout on her face.

He slammed his head on the table, spilled some more liquids, much to the maid's, who had previously just cleaned up, horror, all the while moaning with anguish. "Did Selphie reject him again?" Olette inquired, her face turned to look at her cousin's friends, who grumbled, shrugged, and laughed nervously.

Giving him a firm pat on the back, the girl laughed. "That's what you get," the innocent smile came back again. "But no worries. Selphie only loves you." Another anguished moan escaped her cousin's lips, the two other boys jumped back in fright, but the girl merely laughed again, "Don't worry. I'll go talk to her for you." Nurse Souris appeared at the door, mouthing, 'Miss Amherst and Miss Faye are here.'

"-After I see Juliette and Claire."

Without a world, the girl lifted up her skirts and dashed out the room, almost tripping over her petticoat, and knocking down a few vases, crashing into one the maids who went to steady the vases and the doormen almost couldn't open the door in time for her as the girl burst out.

Excited squeals filled the courtyard as three girls reunited with each other, conversing about things rapidly, their words slurring and followed by occasional high pitched cries of delight. Three fifteen year old girls walked into the manor and to the courtyard with their arms intertwined, giggling and laughing. One was a pale redhead with freckles dotting her face and bright grey eyes. The other had a hair of ebony, with amber eyes that flickered around, always.

Juliette was part of a family with stellar backgrounds, but they were not an extremely wealthy family compared to the Montague's and the Capulet's. Juliette had connections with some of the other great families in Vralia though, and rumors said she was related to the Princess (which was partially true, if cousin of the twice removed aunt's daughter who was distantly related to the duchess, who was the second cousin of the Princess, counted as being related.)

Claire, although she was part of a rich family, her background was far from looking pretty. The Faye's have only been rich for two generations, as Claire's great grandfather struck rich when he entered the trade business.

Lineage in Vralia was very important, money was a close second. So a good marriage pair, also known as a pair that had titles and money, was desired by every Vralian parent. The mere thought of nobility marrying a lowly peasant was unthinkable.

Olette hooked her arms around her friends, Juliette much taller than Olette, Claire a midget compared to the brunette. "Rosaline is _engaged_. Can you believe that?" Juliette's expressive grey eyes widened for dramatic effect. The brunette girl gasped, and feigned shock. The redhead giggled.

The three fifteen year old girls waltzed down to the white canopy raised up under the mid-morning sun, sat down as platters of pastries were brought before them, even though Olette knew it was too early for tea. Juliette and Claire didn't seem to mind though.

"What about you, Claire? Has anything interesting happened while you were out in finishing school?" Raising the white china cup to her lips, Olette took a cautious sip before setting it back down on the silver rimmed plate, deciding that it needed more sugar.

Claire, on the other hand, was shamelessly stuffing down the delicate pastries set before them. Finishing school didn't change that about Olette's raven haired friend. "You don't know how long it has been since the Headmistress banned me from pastries and sugar! I love you, Olette, have I told you that?" Amber eyes looked grateful as the brunette smiled.

"You never change, Claire," Juliette giggled, fluttering her fan dramatically.

The ebony haired girl gasped, obviously offended, "What is that supposed to mean? My waist is a perfect sixteen-inch when corseted thank you very much." She picked up a petit four, bit into it while her two companions couldn't help but chortle in amusement.

"What?" Claire spoke with her mouthful, swallowing hard, and joined in with the laughter.

Juliette, on the other hand, nibbled daintily on a beignet, the white confectionary sugar dusting her baby blue dress, swallowed before speaking, "You know, the Capulet's are having a ball tonight." Green eyes that were previously so interested in the red-brown liquid sitting in her cup shot up immediately. "I heard that every relative of the Capulet's are invited there, and every eligible maiden in Vralia can go," Juliette then nudged Olette, "I heard that Xigbar's going to be there."

Almost instantly, the brunette turned bright red, sticking out like a sore thumb on the white table cloth, the chair she was sitting on, and one of the manor walls behind them. "Every eligible maiden in Vralia is invited; they didn't say anything about Montague's, so it's safe for you to go too," Claire added after swallowing the mouthful of cake she was chewing on.

As Claire spoke her sentence, Olette was in the middle of drinking the bitter tea, and she choked on it, spluttering as she spilled luke-warm tea over her gown, blushing harder than she had before. Coughing, she could only whisper weakly, "Are you out of your mind Claire? The Capulet's would kill me if they found me there, a Montague. I can't risk that chance just to see… Him."

Juliette waved her finger at the brunette, and sighed. "It's a masquerade; everyone will be wearing a mask! No one would figure out who you are. You would just be another paper face in the parade. Don't worry about a thing."

"I have the perfect outfit for you, it is in my trunk and you can have it. Consider it a birthday present from Mama, who loathes for not giving you something last year. She loves you like a daughter, did you know that? And as for the mask, I know we can do something about it. If not, maybe we'll have someone drop by Mother Aolani's shop," the raven-haired girl said, seeming blissfully unaware of the danger Olette would be in if she were to be found out by one of the guests. She would be skinned alive and dipped in hot, boiling oil no doubt.

But after a while of persuading, and the promise of Juliette being there with her (Juliette was in no danger, of course, being an Amherst), the brunette finally agreed to go to the Capulet's ball. "But, I'll just go see him and then I'll leave, alright?" Her two friends nodded, and they both grinned a the-cat-who-ate-the-canary grin. "Do you know what this means?" Juliette glanced sideways at Claire, who nodded. "Dress up!" They chorused together and grabbed Olette by the arm.

"This is more trouble than it's worth… He better be there," Olette sighed deeply.

**scene ii**

Almost at that exact moment, across town, the gentle rays of sunlight were just hitting the deep blue curtains hanging in the windows of the large Capulet mansion. Whereas the Montague's were known for bleaching their curtains, bed linens and clothes to within an inch of their lives, the Capulet's preferred dark colors.

Black was a given, and truthfully, had the Mistress of the house had her way (as she usually did) the rooms would all be hung in black with dark decorations and an ebony carpet three inches thick. When her husband tried in vain to point out that such interiors would give the impression of a funeral home, the Mistress's reaction was an elaborate scowl, a toss of her silky pale-golden hair and a careless, "And I care why?"

However the majority of the household was inclined to agree with the husband, so the Mistress had had to settle for dark reds, blues, greens and purples, with a liberal amount of dark embellishments. The one thing that had satisfied her was that all the floors were covered in lush, rich, thick **BLACK** carpeting.

The room we're examining now was decorated in shades of blue, though the lightest of these hardly registered above cerulean. Curtains, blankets and sheets were the darkest, especially the pillows (of which there were at least eight, if not more). The individual who was responsible for this room took great pride in the pillows, keeping them fluffed and smoothed to perfection, lined up like soldiers every night at the head of the bed.

Of course, by the time morning rolled around the effect was entirely spoiled. At least three of the pillows had been unceremoniously shoved to the floor, one or two were scattered elsewhere around the bed (it was a source of great mystery as to how the sleeper could maneuver a pillow to the foot of the bed in their sleep) one hugged tightly with one arm (this was a habit the sleeper had had from childhood, and he utterly refused to give it up) and, of course, two once-plump pillows squashed out of shape and serving only as a canvas to highlight the sleepers extraordinarily bright golden hair.

It was nearing nine-thirty in the morning, a time where most of the other members of the household had been up and busy for nearly five hours, but it would take something far more dramatic than a bit of sunshine and chirping birds outside the navy-colored curtains to rouse Roxas Capulet from his slumber.

It would take something like his nurse, Pence.

The door to the large bedchamber was flung open loudly and without ceremony, slamming against the opposite wall with a clatter so large that it gave the sparrows perched on the windowsill the fright of their lives. Even so, all it did for the almost-sixteen-year-old curled up in the dark blue bed, was cause a vague frown, grumble, and a burrowing deeper into the pillows. Not that Pence noted that.

"All right, up, up, up, it's Saturday and you know what that means!" Pence said, barreling across the room towards the heavy curtains and struggling a bit to tie them back.

Roxas grunted something unintelligible, and then winced against the sunlight, burying his head under one of the remaining pillows. Pence paused momentarily, turning and eyeing the lump that represented his ward of nearly sixteen years, and then sighed heavily. "It means, my dear lazy child, that today is the day of the masked ball."

"Mmmf." Was Roxas's eloquent reply.

Arcing one dark eyebrow and busying himself with gathering the abandoned pillows from the floor, Pence said loftily, "I am going to assume, sir, that by 'mmmf' you meant something like 'what care I for balls?' in which case I will take this moment to tell you that you sound very much like your mother."

This was unacceptable. Flinging the blankets away from his face and shielding his eyes with one arm, Roxas growled sleepily, "Do not."

Pence paused, arms full of pillows, and gave a smooth smile. "That got you up, didn't it?" Roxas blinked his large blue eyes for a moment, and then slowly grinned at his nurse, admitting defeat, for the moment. The brunet nodded firmly and said, "Of course it did. I know you too well, Roxy."

"Don' call me that." the blond mumbled, running his fingers through his hair and yawning widely, then gazing up at the heavy velvet canopy that crowned his bed. A canopy. Why did he have to have a canopy? It was very feminine, that was for sure, and not very good for Roxas's self-esteem, which already suffered from listening to his mother lament about the lack of a daughter and heiress.

In Vralia, at least in circles involving the Capulet's and their extended family, it was tradition and the norm for females to inherit the property, money and assets of their parents. Therefore, while sons were usually good for joining the army and perhaps dying tragically in a far-off country, they were not at all suitable for supporting their parents in their old age. All his life Roxas had been told he had to marry some young lady of good family. His whole existence up to this point had been spent in readying himself for it.

And now, today, all the preparation was coming to an end. Sighing softly and snuggling back into the blankets, Roxas examined the water stains in the velvet and tried not to let himself get too gloomy. His mother had tried her best to be discreet (not that discreet was a word you would automatically choose for Lady Larxene Capulet) but the boy knew darn well that today he was essentially debuting into Vralian society. Every mother who had an eligible daughter would be flocking around him all evening and he'd have no peace.

Actually, if Roxas was going to be perfectly blunt, he probably wouldn't have any peace, ever again, not even after he was married. With the reputation his father, Xemnas had made by allowing his opinionated, brash, oftentimes harsh wife have her way in almost everything, it was going to take all the younger Sir Capulet's energy to keep from being labeled a pushover. It didn't seem worth it.

Almost as if he'd read the young man's mind, Pence turned from his task (which was reviving the poor forgotten pillows) and inquired brightly, "Are you enthusiastic about the masquerade? I overheard a few of the footmen talking, and, in my ever-humble opinion, it's shaping up to be the event of the season!" Chuckling in an amused manner to himself as the re-fluffed pillows piled around him, Pence rambled aimlessly, completely unaware of the fact that his charge wasn't listening to a word he said. "The cream of society will be there, everyone who's anyone, your father's relatives from the next town over, your mother's family and their lovely daughter, all manner of aunts, uncles and cousins-"

"The Montagues?" Roxas broke in suddenly, just to be difficult. He knew there would be snow in summertime before his mother allowed anyone from the family of Montague into the mansion, under any circumstances. In fact, it was doubtful Lady Capulet would let a starving, bleeding, blind beggar man in for a drink, if his name was Montague. She'd allow him to bleed to death on her front stoop, and laugh about it.

Pence made a great show of being possessed with as much familial pride as his Mistress, but Roxas had always suspected there was something not quite genuine about the act. Even now, as the nurse sighed heavily and deposited the pile of freshened pillows onto the foot of the bed, there was an artificial note in his voice as he chastised, "Now, sir, don't even toy with that idea. You know your mother would never allow such a thing. The chasm between your family and that of the Montague's is far too great to be bridged."

Turning away and opening the wardrobe, Pence muttered under his breath, "For now, at least."

"What was that?" Roxas pressed with a vague frown. When Pence didn't answer, apparently focused on selecting the perfect black silk shirt, the young blond rolled his eyes, sat up and crossed both arms over his knees. "I said, what was that you said, Pence?" he inquired, wrinkling his nose slightly at the heavily ruffled garment being pulled from the depths of the closet.

"Nothing, sir." Pence said mildly, abandoning the frilly nightmare for a much more tailored shirt, much to Roxas's relief. "Just talking to myself, as always." Turning around, arms piled high with black silk; Pence gave an indignant gasp, and then proceeded to scowl fiercely at the teenager. "Sir!" he exclaimed in tones of immense offense.

"What?" Roxas shot back with a scowl, still not entirely awake. "And might I inquire as to why you keep calling me sir? I think I like it even less than Roxy."

Pence frowned slightly, and then lifted his nose in the air. "I am referring to you as such, sir, because it is what you are now! In case you haven't realized, sir, you aren't a child anymore." An almost wistful look crept into Pence's dark eyes as he slowly set the pillows on the end of the bed. "Not at all…"

Rolling his dark blue eyes elaborately, Roxas flopped back onto his back and stared at the canopy, remembering the words his mother had spoken when she'd picked it out, years and years before – 'It must be perfect! If not for my daughter, then for my daughter-in-law!' He hadn't understood then, barely comprehending the fact that, as a son, he wasn't as wanted as a girl would've been. Now, after all this time, he finally understood what she'd meant.

"Believe me," the young man said in a soft voice, frowning slightly, not quite understanding the wistfulness he was feeling. "I know." Pence eyed his young ward for a moment, eyes softening as he did so. Roxas was a handful, difficult, stubborn, and even downright obnoxious at times. But he was still very precious to Pence.

All he wanted was to see the boy happy, no matter what it took.

"Enough glooming." The dark-haired fellow said after a moment of awkward silence. Sweeping back over to the black silk clothes laid out neatly on the window seat, Pence said cheerfully, "I'm under order to get these on you, young man, and I shall succeed!"

Roxas looked vaguely amused, for he'd heard that line before, but the beautiful day was working its magic on him and he felt inclined to obey. With a laugh, the teenager reluctantly threw the bedclothes back and walked over to the window seat. "No need for dramatics." He said loftily, bending down and scooping up the clothes, drawing an involuntary wince from his nurse as the neatly ironed clothes were reduced to a mass of black silk. "I am perfectly capable of dressing myself." With that, Roxas turned and marched in a rather determined manner into the adjoining bathroom, to change.

Once safely sequestered away from the fidgeting nervousness that was accompanying Pence and hanging over the entire house like a heavy cloak, Roxas sighed heavily and abandoned his cheerful ruse. Slumping down to sit with his back against the door, the clothes forgotten next to him, the teenager closed his eyes and tried to pretend that today was just another normal day. There was nothing special or out-of-the-ordinary about it. He would simply get dressed, go downstairs and have breakfast, and then life would continue as normal.

Roxas had tried to tell himself things like this before, like on the many occasions when he would hear his father and mother arguing about something-or-other (it no longer bothered him to hear his low, stony voice and her loud shrill, obscenity-ridden one, lifted to decibels that would shatter glass, but it had scared him to death as a child) or when he'd be required to fade into the background at yet another social event, set aside because he didn't meet Lady Larxene's specific requirements. Well, now he was about to step into the social spotlight, put on display for those countless women and their giggling daughters to examine and scrutinize and bargain for, like a horse at an auction.

And, as it had on those countless times he'd had to pretend as a child, the tactic of ignoring it and hoping it would go away, simply did not work.

A light, vaguely inquiring tap at the door brought the young blond out of his thoughts and, with another heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes, Roxas turned and said flatly, "I'm fine, thanks for asking." It was clear he wasn't but Pence knew better than to press things when the boy was in this sort of mood. Looks weren't the only thing he'd gotten from his mother.

With one last look out the window at the beautiful blue sky and the birds fluttering about, wishing for a moment that, as cliché as it sounded, he was one of them, Roxas stood and grabbed the black clothes, preparing himself for the first day of the rest of his life.

Yes, yet another cliché. His life was full of them.

Of course Pence insisted upon adjusting every button, tie, cuff and hem the second Roxas emerged from the room, looking decidedly dashing and decidedly irritated in his midnight garments. But, finally, the pants, shirt, vest and jacket were all smoothed and straightened to the nurse's satisfaction and, after making sure there weren't any signs of sleep still hanging about his charge, Pence smiled blissfully and declared, "Now all that's left is that hair!"

"Touch me and die." Was Roxas's smooth, matter-of-fact reply, delivered in the most normal, almost congenial of tones, as he stood ramrod straight and crossed his arms casually. Pence stifled a wince, both at the boy's words and at the blistering death glare he was giving the brush lying on the bureau behind them.

Actually, though, this phrase wasn't a new one. Unlike most children, who grew out of the 'don't-mess-with-my-hair' stage by their early school-going years, Roxas was stubborn as a mule when it came to the idea of Pence or anyone taming his wild blond locks. He would submit to all manner of cravats and breeches and whatever uncomfortable garment was in fashion that week, but nothing, not threats or cajoling or bribery or your basic on-your-knees groveling could get him to let anything brush-like near his head. Nothing.

Well, almost nothing.

Lady Larxene Capulet never walked, she swept. And, as she swept, through the halls and the gardens and the courtyards of her vast estate, everyone sidled or slipped or hurried or sometimes flat-out ran away from her, because woe betide you if you got into the Mistresses path when she was having a bad day. Which she usually was.

Having all these people fleeing before her usually made for a loud series of scuffling, gasps and occasionally crashes, when a poor kitchen servant had no other option than to fling themselves under the nearest table and hope she didn't notice. Lady Larxene had never had to hire a herald or trumpets to announce her presence. The cacophony of her pathetic servants scrambling away was announcement enough.

Currently this desperate noise was making it's way up the main staircase and towards the east wing, where Roxas's room was located. You would've had to have been deaf not to hear it, or sense Lady Larxene's imposing presence as she made her deliberate way towards her son's room. And that was enough to break both teenager and nurse out of their little face-off, sending the latter fleeing to one end of the room to find something useful-looking to do and the former sitting down hard on the perfectly-made bed (Pence really was efficient, not to mention fast) and try not to look too pouty.

Precisely four and a half seconds later, the door flew open unannounced and Lady Larxene Capulet, in her six-foot-tall, blonde-haired, pitch-black-gowned, snapping blue-green-eyed glory swept into the room and stopped, with her arms set on her hips, directly above Roxas. "What are you wearing?!" she demanded in a tone usually reserved for calling dogs.

A lesser individual would've been reduced to a quivering heap of whimpering jelly at the full force of Lady Larxene's winter-inspired gaze and biting tone, but Roxas was quite accustomed to it by this point. He'd had sixteen years of practice after all.

So, after resisting the urge to massage his most-likely-shattered eardrums, the young man cleared his throat, pasted a calm, innocent smile on his face and met her gaze. "Good morning, Mother," he began cordially, Pence's rules about manners prompting him to begin properly. Lady Larxene waved her hand dismissively, and Roxas stifled a sigh, his good behavior completely lost on his parent. "I'm wearing clothes," he continued, stating the obvious and managing to make it not sound too smart-mouthed.

Lady Larxene's eyes narrowed slightly and she adjusted her position from hands-on-hips to crossed arms. "I can see that, dear child," she said in a voice that practically iced up the windows. "My query was more directed towards the manner of clothing you are wearing. Might I inquire as to where you got…that?" The newest question was followed up by a disgusted wave at the black ensemble Roxas had on.

Now the blond was at a total loss. He had no idea what the right answer was – he'd gotten the clothes from Pence who'd gotten them from his wardrobe, the same place he'd gotten all of his clothes since he was old enough to wear them – so, with a puzzled pout, Roxas glanced over at Pence in extreme bewilderment.

And, of course, that was the dark-brunette's cue to step in and rescue his confused ward from the bad temperament of his mother. Pence was notorious for being completely unable to resist Roxas whenever the boy needed his help and, while it was doubtful Lady Larxene would injure or even violently insult her son, the nurse still felt obligated to protect his charge from any discomfort. "It was me, my Lady." Pence put in quickly, stepping forward and getting her attention.

Both Capulet's turned as one, Roxas looking quite relieved that the pressure was off him, Lady Larxene looking decidedly vexed that someone had dared to open their mouths around her, despite the fact that she'd been the one asking the question. Hesitating momentarily, Pence cleared his throat again and continued, slowly, "I was under the impression that, being as today is a rather…momentous day-"

"That is the understatement of the century." Larxene broke in coldly, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Then, with mock parental pride, she set one hand on her sons shoulder and said, with great ceremony, "Today is a day of such momentous and celebratory magnificence that I would not be surprised if the Prince himself made it a holiday. He is family of ours, you know."

Pence was well aware of this fact. Lady Larxene reminded him of it hourly. But now she was waving one hand impatiently at him, the almost disgusted wiggle of her perfectly shaped and pointed nails prompting him to continue. With an apologetic nod (it didn't matter if you hadn't done a thing wrong, it was always wise to enter Lady Larxene's presence with an air of extreme apology) the nurse went on. "Well, in honor of this auspicious day, I thought it fitting to select the garments you had sent over from Aremae-"

"Aremae?" Lady Larxene repeated, her nose wrinkling at the thought of the city far northwards that was known for being the hub of most culture and fashion. Apparently it wasn't well-known enough for her. "That ridiculous little town? I don't even purchase my handkerchiefs in Aremae." Tossing her long golden hair in her signature aloof manner, Lady Larxene waved one pale hand at the doorway in a careless way, prompting the entrance of a nervous servant. He seemed to have been set there for the express purpose of entering at that exact moment, bearing a large box across both arms and looking very much like he would've been perspiring in anxiety, had Lady Larxene Capulet permitted perspiration in her servants.

Pence and Roxas looked equally surprised and confused as Larxene swept over to the box and, with great ceremony, lifted the lid and tossed it carelessly to one side. "Come here, dear." She said coolly, beckoning to Roxas with one finger while never taking her eyes off the contents of the box. Obeying slowly, the teenager came to his mother's side and glanced into the box.

Roxas was neither interested nor partial to any particular type of clothes, and couldn't have cared less if he'd been required to dress in burlap and flour sacks. But still, an involuntary gasp escaped him when he saw the yards of buttery-smooth, softly glinting black silk, so dark and rich it made the clothes he had on seem washed out and even pale. It was hard to distinguish specific articles of clothing from the mass of dark fabric, but Roxas could make out a shirt, vest, pants and, rather than a jacket, a long midnight cape embroidered on the edges with delicate scalloping designs in faintly glittering dark blue thread. And, sitting on top of it all was a mask, molded into the distinct shape of a raven, the symbol of the Capulet household, beak gently hooked and the entirety of it glinting with the rarest, darkest sapphires that would shine a dazzling blue in the lights from the chandeliers in the main hall.

While Roxas was involved in gawking at the clothing laid out before him, Lady Larxene gave an affected little sniff and, with a cool smile that didn't even begin to reach her eyes, turned to Pence and purred, "Genuine handspun silk imported from Venezsia. That, my dear Pence, is the sort of garment we in Vralia choose for a ball of this caliber. Do try and remember that the next time you even think of clothing my son in a rag such as that." Here the lady curled her lip at the clothes Roxas had on, and then turned her back on Pence.

The dark-haired nurse protested lightly, saying, "My lady, if I had only understood you had a particular outfit in mind, I would never have-"

"Enough," Larxene said, whirling and holding up one hand, eyes flashing with a cold, cruel fire that had only been fully released a few times in her lifetime. Pence stopped, and then shut his mouth hard, folding his hands in front of him to keep from saying anymore. Lady Larxene's jaw tightened, but all she said was, "Try and keep in mind that you are in no way exempt from the standards of this household, despite your unusual circumstances. You _can_ be replaced."

"I understand, my lady," Pence said in a low voice, tucking his protests away for another time.

Larxene nodded approvingly, then turned on her heel and scooped up the lid of the box. "Now, it's getting late!" she said in a falsely bright voice, shutting the box so quickly Roxas jumped in surprise, brought out of his gawking at the clothes that probably cost more than half of Vralia put together. Setting the large box on the bed, then waving the attendant away, the lady straightened her clothing and, with a brief pat on Roxas's messy blond head, as if she'd quite forgotten he was sixteen, rather than six, said brightly, "Change quickly and come downstairs! No time for breakfast, we have far too much to do before this evening. There are the tables to set up and the flowers to arrange and the caterer to bring in and the music to organize and…" Lady Larxene Capulet turned and started to sweep out of the bedroom, still chattering to herself and the world in general, only pausing long enough to call over her shoulder, "And Roxas, brush that hair of yours, it's beginning to resemble a birds nest."

The door shut with a resounding boom behind her, leaving the bedchamber feeling surprisingly empty in her wake. Roxas blinked a couple times, then slowly turned and gave Pence a rather bewildered look. Hiding his irritation from the brief exchange moments before, the dark-brunet shrugged and said, in a mock-cheerful voice, "Happy birthday, Roxas."

Groaning heavily, the teenager turned and flopped back onto the bed, starting to attempt to bury himself underneath the perfectly straightened blankets. Laughing in spite of himself, Pence hurried over and dragged his charge back up before the impeccable bed-making job was entirely ruined. "Now, none of that." he said briskly, straightening the grumbling Roxas' hair and noticing that the boy was almost taller than he was. "You have a big day ahead of you. Who knows, you may meet your future bride today!"

"Ug…" Roxas muttered, making a face and sitting down on the bed. Pence just laughed, as if the young man's disgust was something childish and amusing, then went over and reverently lifted the box containing the costume off the bed. It would be much safer on the window seat, should Roxas decide to fall back onto the bed in woe anytime soon. The blond watched him, saying in a rather petulant voice, "I'm in no hurry to get married, I'll have you know. In fact, I know it to be true that there isn't a single girl in all of Vralia who I'd willingly so much as speak to."

"Oh, don't be so pessimistic," Pence said in a chastising voice, opening the clothes box and blinking in shock several times. When Lady Larxene Capulet was extravagant, she was EXTRAVAGANT. The mask alone could sustain a large family in the poorer areas of Vralia for several months. Trying to get over his shock, Pence resisted the urge to finger the midnight sapphires, turning and saying thoughtfully, "Maybe you'll get there and meet some charming girl, all masked and mysterious, and you'll talk all night and she'll be just perfect and you'll fall for her like that, and then she'll have to go and you'll bid her farewell reluctantly and she'll disappear into the night-"

"But she'll forget her glass slipper and her carriage will become a pumpkin and I'll search the whole of Vralia for her and eventually, miraculously find her and end up with mice and birds as attendants in my wedding," Roxas interrupted in a sing-song voice. Then he smirked at his nurse, blue eyes the epitome of skeptical. "I've heard that story before, Pence."

"Oh, be quiet." Pence replied good-naturedly, walking over and affectionately rumbling his charge's hair, wincing at the thought of Larxene's last commands. When the teenager was in a mood such as this, it would take nothing short of a miracle to get his hair somewhat straightened. Pence didn't even dare to think about the trial it would be to attempt to keep it that way.

With a heavy sigh, Roxas dropped his chin to his hands and said glumly, "If only things really worked out that way. If only there really was one perfect girl for me. Someone sweet and funny and not so concerned with appearances and tradition. Someone…spontaneous and…I don't know. Alive. Someone I could really talk to…"

The young blond was so involved in his deep thoughts that he didn't notice the look on Pence's face, which was, for once, not one of fondness or proper, submissive sedateness. It was a look that was most commonly seen on the faces of magicians, illusionists and very small children.

It was the look of someone who'd just had a brilliant idea.

Pence allowed himself a brief, rather wicked smile, before falling back into his nurse role and saying briskly, "All right, enough daydreaming. Your mother will have both our skins if you aren't downstairs in your role as the Raven Prince within three seconds."

Roxas reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged to his feet and pushed towards the bathroom again, musing as he went, "Perhaps I should just not marry. Maybe I could become…a monk. Or a priest or something."

"A friar?" Pence said in a dry and rather vexed voice, because it was no easy task to balance a large box on one arm and hurry a reluctant sixteen-year-old boy along with the other. "Believe me, my dear sir; you would not be well-suited to the life of a friar. It is no picnic, let me tell you."

"Silly Pence," Roxas said with affectionate fondness, accepting the box and smiling benignly at his nurse. "What would you know about being a friar?"

"Huh!" was Pence's only reply, pushing his charge into the bathroom and shutting the door firmly. He then turned to attend to whatever other tasks Lady Larxene would require of his before the masquerade that night, trying not to get too distracted by the thoughts swimming in his head. In fact, he only paused to inquire casually, "Oh, Roxas, is that cousin of yours, Xigbar, going to be attending the masque tonight?"

"I think so," Roxas replied, voice muffled by the heavy oak door standing in between them. "Why do you ask?"

Pence shrugged, even though the boy couldn't see him. "Oh, no reason at all," he said lightly. But there was a decidedly wicked smile on his face as he turned and, whistling slightly, departed downstairs.

**scene iii**

A sea of faces poured into the Capulet's dark mansion, carriages parked outside the huge, black iron gates as the orchestra played in the background. The trees loomed darkly above their heads as the servants made an effort to hang small lanterns on the giant branches, younger children from relatives played hide-and-go-seek in the courtyard, older ones sitting there on the grass chatting with each other, and those girls of age gathered around inside, trying to get a glimpse of the reason they were all gathered there. The dark ebony decorations everywhere gave the impression that it was a funeral party, not a masquerade.

Olette shifted nervously around her seat as Juliette's carriage drew nearer and nearer to the Capulet mansion. She was ready to stop it right now and run all the way back home. Sensing her uncertainty, the redhead reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, everything will be fine. Just remember, tonight you are not Olette Montague, but my second cousin twice removed from Venezsia, and your name is Avaline Devereux. Youngest out of seven, the world doesn't know you well. Alright?" The brunette's head dipped forward weakly.

"Your papa's name is Théodore, mama's name is Grecia. Your sibling's names are Apolline, twenty six, who is married to Phillip, she has one son called Camille. Céleste, twenty three when she died from childbirth last year in April, married to Damien. Félix, twenty two, married to Dionne, no children. Joséphine, pet named Fifi, engaged to Juste, nineteen. Nicholas, not engaged but has a sweetheart, Estelle, seventeen." Instead of listening to her friend talk as she should, Olette focused on what her companion was wearing, letting Juliette's words drift by like the breeze.

Gold thread laced across scarlet silk on Juliette's bodice, as she folded a fan at her lap that was way too big to just be used for fanning. As the carriage came to a halt, Juliette tied her mask on, an array of deep red and dusty rose feathers adorned the right side of the scarlet-gold mask. "Now remember, keep the mask on at **all times**. Not even when you are lip-locking with someone, okay?" A nudge and a wink.

"Now turn around and let me tie it on you." Following her orders, Olette tilted at an angle in the carriage. While the white mask was tied onto her face (a tad too tight, might I add), she looked down at her own outfit. It was white ball gown (why white?) with tulle around the sleeves dotted with pearls, it took her whole will to not scratch at the expensive yet oh-so-itchy material, and a tulle trim around her waist where the princess tuck fell gracefully over an ivory white. A cape draped over her shoulders and was held together with an emerald and pearl clasp. Small, dark emeralds and pearls outlined the white mask, and lavished with white dove feathers and tulle, a huge white pearl secured everything in place. A little hook of a beak sat on her nose, almost like a bird's.

It was a little inside joke of Juliette's, Avaline did mean "Little Bird" after all.

The carriage came to a halt as the stopped outside the black iron gate. Taking a deep breath, the brunette girl pulled the hood of the cape up on her head, as Juliette scowled, but the scowl didn't stay there for long as the carriage door opened. Taking the hand offered to her, Juliette stepped down, and Olette could only mimic her movements. " Cape please, Miss," the doorman standing at the gate spoke, but Olette shook her head.

"Name?" Another doorman spoke in a monotone voice, as Juliette flashed a bright smile, taking hold of Olette's hand. "Juliette Amherst, this is my cousin, Avaline Devereux. She doesn't speak much English so excuse her." The doorman's eyebrow cocked up in suspicion, but let them pass. "Now, you go have some fun while I have some business to attend to, alright?" There was that sly grin again. "Go on!" The redhead urged, and slipped away into the crowd, fluttering that scarlet mask/fan at her face.

Around her was a zoo of the strangest animals, under the flickering chandelier, Olette could make out priests and queens, a cat and a canary, faces of strange beasts, a trace of rogue under a black wire mask. She also noticed that the green eyes under a flaming red mask and a mess of spiked red hair kept on staring at her. Somehow, this stalker-like person reminded her of a walking forest fire.

"Ah dear, have you heard? Sir Capulet is looking for a bride tonight," a lady wearing dark green mask flitted by her, conversing with a blond, brown ringlets danced around her face. It was almost like looking into a mirror. The stranger was almost an exact copy of Olette, perhaps slightly taller and her hair a bit more manageable, but if one were to not know, they would have been sisters.

Her eyes flicker on a man basking in attention. "Where did you get that scar?" ladies gasped, swooning as he seemed to tell his story as dramatically as possible, with hand movements and all. Olette could also see Juliette part of the crowd, but the grey eyed girl seemed to be focused on getting him away from the crowd other than listen to whatever story he was telling them. "-it is important…" She heard her friend beg, and understood her motives.

The orchestra started to play a new tune as the lady with the wire mask, whom Olette recognized as Lady Capulet, clapped her hands together in an attempt to get everyone's attention. No one seemed to notice her until she cleared her throat. The conductor stopped the orchestra, the dancers froze, and a small, satisfied smile came to her face. "I am grateful that you all could arrive here to celebrate my son's sixteenth birthday." All eyes flickered towards a black clad boy who made his way over, managing a feeble smile to the crowd. Olette kept her head bent down low, heart thumping in panic as the red haired man's gaze never left her, and slipped through the crowd.

"Have a great night, and remember: the masks have to be on until midnight!" Everyone chuckled as an accusing look came to Lady Capulet's face. "No, I'm serious,"she waved a long finger at them, laughed, shoved her blond son at the crowd, and left the ballroom. The orchestra began again as Olette hurried past everyone to the door.

And ended up crashing into a black figure. Black met white, yin with yang, and things were never the same.

"I'm sor-" Cobalt blue eyes widened as they fixed on dark emerald ones, an arm wrapping around her waist to break her fall, and she stopped breathing altogether. She felt her mouth drop open a few centimeters as she felt his touch, firmly stopping her from tumbling onto the marble floor, yet gentle enough she couldn't feel a thing. As Olette closed her mouth, and a half-smile came to her lips, a single thought raced through her mind, _Xig-who?_

"I'm sorry," he finished his sentence, glowing dark pink as heat spread through his face and shot up down his neck and up his ears. A smile tugged his lips as hers grew a little wider.

"It's alright," she managed to whisper. They kept on smiling like fools until she murmured, "Can you let go of me now?" Olette asked, quite aware of his firm grip n her waist.

He stuttered a 'yes', pulled himself straight, and let go, while turning redder. Both attempted to move out of the other's way while stepping sideways, back and forth, almost like a dance.

The blond boy laughed nervously, "How about I just show you around a bit? It seems like you don't know where you're going." And he looked into her viridian green eyes for but only a moment, and broke the gaze by focusing on something in the background.

"That would be pleasant," Olette responded, focusing down at her feet.

"You have yet to tell me your name," The stranger broke through the ice as they walked down the dimly lit garden, staring up at the darkening sky.

The brunette girl, with her hands clasped in front of her, spoke, "O-" She paused as Juliette's words echoed through her mind. _Tonight you are not Olette Montague._ "Oh! I have not? My name is Avaline Devereux. I am visiting Vralia from Venezsia, she smiled and fingered the silky material of her white cape.

They walked past a gardenia shrub; it's fragrance a lingering sweetness dancing in the air. "Venezsia? That's far from here. Visiting a relative, I presume?" te blond boy smiled from under his black mask. Oh how Olette wished that he would just take off the mask!

She nodded, pausing to admire the mock orange growing in the tangles of tall trees. It was never like this at home, to walk around the corner in the garden and discover something new. The trees were organized and well placed; Queen Anne's lace decorated the stone path winding up to the manor, just a few weeks before the gardener had so carefully made the gold and purple crocus flourish and peek shyly from the green grass. Everything in the Capulet's garden seemed so wild, so unplanned. You could spot belladonna with its deadly berries hiding in the oleander, wisteria strangling trees and creeping up the dark mansion walls.

It was all so unpredictable, almost like an exciting journey. "Yes. I am visiting a second cousin of mine, Juliette Amherst." _Crack._ The girl turned her head to the direction of the noise, her heart beating with fleeting terror that it would be the red haired man again, but to find it to be only a cat slinking away into the shadows.

"Juliette?" h seemed to be deep in thought for a split second, murmuring something along the lines of, "They don't act remotely alike…" Only to turn back, give another one of those smiles that made her melt, and ask her another question. "Do you have any siblings?"

Olette's mind strained to remember the hard to pronounce names of Juliette's relatives, frowning, and covering her frustration up by laughing. "Yes, I do. There is… Apolline, she is the eldest of my six other siblings. She is living in Paliermu with Phillip, my brother-in-law. She has a simply adorable child, Camille. I have not seen her in a long while." Another light-hearted laugh came from the boy as she continued to recite everything Juliette had told her from memory, making up a few details just to convince the stranger. The trees rustled again, but the girl was too busy gazing up at the blond boy to notice.

"Once, I was stuck in a tree, and Nicholas could not get me down!" The truth was actually, Hayner couldn't get her down from the tree. "Mama nearly had a heart attack while they tried to make me jump down. In the end, Félix had to climb up the tree and fetch me." _Tidus had to climb up the tree and fetch me._ She ended up holding down a giggle, and the masked stranger inquired curiously, "What is so funny?"

"Only Céleste knew that I climbed up that tree on purpose. But promise you wouldn't tell a soul! Mama always told me not to lie, but I couldn't resist!" _Only Selphie knew that I climbed up that tree on purpose._ She held up her pinky, a childish antic, yet he only smiled and took it in his own. "I won't, promise."

The remaining light from the sun disappeared as Helios returned to his home by the sea, and Selene sat amongst the clouds, her white horses waiting patiently as she let the two teenagers bask in her pale light. The constellations glowed, twinkling, watching, silent witnesses of the event.

Their talk gradually grew more carefree as Olette didn't have to pretend anymore. The stranger asked questions that didn't need Avaline to answer, they were directed to Olette. "Tonight I am here because I'm looking for someone, but it was not the person I had first expected. You?" They found themselves stealing shy glances at each other and looking away, bumping into each other and flushing coral, unexplainable times where their hearts just skipped a beat and times where they just stood in the silence and smiling like imbeciles.

Was this, what they say, what falling in love felt like?

"I'm also looking for someone, but it is not of my free will. Today being my sixteenth birthday and all, my parents have decided that it is a perfectly reasonable time for me to settle down and have a family of my own. Mother feels like it is my duty to find a lady acceptable, preferably rich and has a title, but I think it's stupid." The brunette froze dead on her tracks. This stranger, the one that made her smile without giving any effort, who made her babble like a fool, was _Roxas Capulet_.

She looked up as the boy touched her arm, asking, "Is there something wrong?"

Shaking her head, she could only manage a half-smile and whisper, "Everything is fine. It is just because this night has been amazing and I will never forget it." Brushing a lock of hair that obscured her view as it fell on her mask, strange thoughts found their way into her mind. _This is wrong… Yet, right…_

* * *

**intermission**: this is muffin. :D after two/three/four (lost track) months of careful planning, we finally got the first chapter up. well, it's ridiculously long but it's awesome like that. since you have survived the 10k of words, why not take just a minute to review and tell me and mahou what you think? 

**edit**: i've edited this and changed the masquerade scene around a bit.

muffin ♥♥


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